


somewhere along the way (we got lost, didn't we?)

by sam_kom_trashkru



Category: The 100 (TV), the last five years - Fandom
Genre: Cheating, F/F, minor angst?, the last five years au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_kom_trashkru/pseuds/sam_kom_trashkru
Summary: A lot can change in five years. Or:A collection of Tuesdays





	

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for Maria (@clxtra)

The halls of the apartment were suspiciously quiet.

Previously, they had been filled to the brim with fairy lights, the gentle bubbling of boiling water in the kettle for tea, the soft melodies of the old record player wafting through the rooms.

They’d been bright, and vibrant, and filled with life.

But now they were barren.

The lone occupant sat, unmoving, by the window, out-of-focus blue orbs gazing, unseeing, out at the street below. Absent-mindedly, she twisted the ring around her finger, wondering, not for the first time, if she ought to just take it off.

But a part of her couldn’t bear to remove yet another reminded of her previous life from her existence. Without the ring, it would be as though all hope was lost. With it, at least she had some semblance of control, of routine, the hope that maybe she would come back.

She wondered if she even wanted her back,

After all the things she’d done, all the promises she’d broken, was it even worth it?

Maybe it wasn’t.

But she couldn’t help but remember how amazing of a life they’d built together over the past five years, the journey they’d gone through together.

She wished, staring out that window, that things could be like how they were in the beginning.

***

They met on a Tuesday.

After yet another audition gone south, and another waitressing job lined up, she’d decided she needed some much-needed relief from the monotony of her life, and had enlisted the aide of her closest friend to help her unwind, which virtually meant he’d be babysitting her while she got as drunk as physically possible.

The moment after she stepped into the bar, shooting a smile at the tender, and namesake of the place, Murphy, a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and that brief turn of the head would change the fate of her life as she knew it. Bright blue eyes, shining in the familiarity of the place, met with vibrant green from across the room, and the owner of the eyes smiled softly before disappearing into the crowds.

“We’ve only been here for five seconds and already you’ve forgotten me, Griffin.” She rolled her eyes at the words of the broad-shouldered man standing next to her, moreso her brother than her friend, and nudged him lightly.

“It’ll take one drink too many to forget about you, Wells,” she muttered, “that’s a lot of years of memories to erase from my memory.”

“Or maybe I’m just unforgettable,” he parroted smugly, ignoring the pointed eyeroll and walking alongside his long-time best friend towards the bar.

“Griffin, Jaha, it’s been, what, two days?” Once you got past the snark, Murphy actually wasn’t too bad, and after a couple of tips, warmed right up to people. “I’ve got the number of a few rehab centers if you need them.”

“And risk putting you out of business?” Clarke grinned.

“On second thought, I don’t know what rehab is,” Murphy replied, passing two glasses towards his friends, raising his own, “here’s to Griffin bombing all of her auditions and making me a rich man.”

“Here, here!” Wells called, pressing his glass to the other man’s while Clarke scowled, throwing back the contents of her own easily.

They met on a Tuesday.

Drinks flowed quickly, the atmosphere of the cozy establishment bustling and busy and generally uplifting, everything that Clarke needed after a day of rejection.

Wells, the wonderful person he was, made sure to swap her glasses of whiskey with glasses of water every so-often, as well as pushed a plate of fries in her direction for her to munch on while he and Murphy regaled her with the latest gossip of the bar’s patrons.

She looked out at the crowds as they talked, picking out subjects of conversation as the words flowed, accompanied by the brutal honesty only supplied by copious amounts of alcohol.

Blue eyes never stopped searching for green, however, and after a few drinks, it became apparent that she was looking for someone in particular.

“Looking for someone, Griffin?” Murphy whispered slyly, and she shook her head quickly, too quickly, and the two men exchanged small smirks.

“Some brunette caught her eye when we walked in,” Wells told Murphy faithfully, “green eyes, quite the looker.”

“Traitor,” Clarke hissed under her breath while Wells laughed, patting her shoulder comfortingly.

“What, I’m just looking out for my best friend,” he said honestly, “it’s been too long since you’ve gotten action, Clarke.” Before she could open her mouth to bite out a sharp retort, the noise in her throat died upon spying the emerald green she’d been so busy looking for, and her silence alerted the two men accompanying her to follow her gaze.

“Oh, her,” Murphy snorted, “you’re too predictable, Griffin, really, you have a type.” She was sitting at a seat near the window, eyes tracing the contents of a book, empty glass next to her. “The silent, brooding, strong-type.”

“Do you know who she is?” Clarke asked, no longer bothering to feign indifference.

“Her name’s Lexa Woods,” he told her succinctly, “just moved in a month or so ago, apparently, she’s an author.” He shook his head. “Man, you two would be perfect for each other. Two struggling artists: a singer and a writer.”

“Shut up,” Clarke mumbled, turning back to her own drink, which was depressingly empty, “she probably isn’t into girls anyways.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, she hasn’t turned the page in her book for the past fifteen minutes, and she keeps peeking over the pages as though I won’t notice her.” For all his unbothered act, Murphy was entirely too observant, and Clarke startled at the news.

“She could just be looking at Wells,” she argued meekly, and Murphy snorted.

“That girl wears way too much flannel to be straight.”

They met on a Tuesday.

Clarke had ignored all attempts of her best friend to get her to go and talk to the girl, oddly shy regardless of the many drinks she’d had, and he and Murphy had given up trying to force her to do anything, knowing full well that Clarke was even more stubborn than usual when she was drunk.

Wells left for a moment to go to the bathroom, and Murphy slunk away to tend to other customers, so Clarke should have known something was up.  
It became obvious when someone who wasn’t Wells occupied the seat next to her.

“Your boyfriend abandon you?”

God, was Clarke a gonner. That voice, that face, that everything. It wasn’t fair.

“Wells has the bladder the size of pea,” she told her matter-of-factly, fighting the urge to blush just from being in her presence, willing the confidence of partygirl Griffin of her college days to return, “and he’s not my boyfriend, more like my brother.”

“Well,” the ethereal angel, Lexa, shot her a small, breathtaking smile, “that’s good to hear, because I was hoping to get to know the shiksa goddess by the bar.”  
Clarke fell in love on a Tuesday.

***

Her finger felt naked. 

The bar was crowded, filled with its usual patrons, and the place that had previously been almost a safehaven for her, in the corner at the table by the window, felt like a graveyard. Nobody paid her much mind, but she couldn’t help but feel as they were all staring deep into her soul, judging her, willing her to leave.

She hesitated for only a moment before walking towards the bar with purpose, and the tender greeted her the same way he greeted everyone before his eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, Woods.”

He always used last names, but this time, it felt bitter, threatening, crawled down her spine like a parasite, and the worst feeling of all was knowing she deserved it.

She opened her mouth to order, but he merely scowled and brought back her usual, apparently disgruntled by the fact he knew her well enough to know what she drank.

“It’s a free country.” The words had barely left her mouth before she knew they were the wrong ones, and the already defensive, closed-off man scowled even darker at her.

“Yeah, which means I legally have the right to kick your ass out of my bar.” He shook his head at her, fingers twitching, and she did her best to appear unshaken.

“I vouched for you, back when you first met, you know that? Told her all sorts of stunning praises in your favor because I thought that getting out there would help her, but you’ve just torn her down.”

That was the most painful part.

Hurting her.

“How is she?” Lexa whispered after a long moment, and Murphy shot her an incredulous look.

“How do you think, Woods?” she didn’t think she’d ever heard so much venom in his typically monotonous voice. “After everything you did, everything you put her through…”

Lexa didn’t want to remember what she’d done.

She didn’t want to remember any of it.

***

Lexa paced around her office, trying to wear away some of the pent up energy she had stored within her, the top two buttons on her shirt unbuttoned. She was more frustrated than usual, as she hadn’t been able to call her wife the night before, behind on writing and meetings and publicity.

A soft rap sounded on her door, and a smile found it’s way on Lexa’s face, knowing that the person at the door was her agent, Costia.

“Come in.”

The other woman walked in smiling brightly, and Lexa’s annoyance at Clarke for being gone, Clarke not being able to talk to her, Clarke’s focus on her career in general, all but disappeared.

“You look tense,” Costia commented, pushing Lexa down so she sat on her chair, small, nimble hands finding purchase on her shoulders, “let me help.” Her ministrations had Lexa putty in her hands, making small noises in the back of her throat that were entirely instinctual, but had both women on edge.

This is wrong, a voice whispered in her ear, she’s your agent, this isn’t professional.

Lexa ignored the voice in her head.

She’d spent so long wound up, in desperate need of any form of relief, which was increasingly hard to come by when Clarke was off in Ohio doing god knows what, so she wasn’t about to send Costia away. Besides, it didn’t hurt that Costia was easy on the eyes.

You shouldn’t be thinking that, the nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like her older sister sounded in her mind, what about your wife?

What about Clarke? There was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of one of her dearest friends. Clarke spent plenty of time with Wells, and Murphy, and even the new friend/on-and-off roommate she had in Ohio, Raven.

Lexa wasn’t accustomed to waiting.

She was sick of it, to be honest.

Why couldn’t Clarke just be happy for her success? She’d noticed it before, what with how reluctant her wife was to attend parties in her honor. The blonde was jealous, whether she cared to admit it or not. Jealous of Lexa’s success, and bitter about the lack of her own.

You’re not making sense, the voice whispered, you love her, she loves you, you know this.

“To hell with professionalism,” Lexa muttered under her breath. Dammit, she was Lexa Woods, only twenty-eight, and already being hailed with titles such as “the savior of writing”, she could do whatever she damn pleased.

You’ll regret this.

She wouldn’t.

(She would.)

“Want to get out of the office?” she suggested, and the movement on her shoulders stopped for a moment. Lexa turned to look at the brown-eyed beauty behind her, eyes catching sight of the centerpiece that hung on her wall, her own green eyes staring back at her, surrounded by dark warpaint, a gift Clarke had given to her on their first anniversary.

She ignored the nagging voice in her head and the feeling in her stomach at the sight of the painting, and instead chose to focus on the other person in the room.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Costia breathed.

It was a rush into the car, the car that she and Clarke had sat in for hours, listening to the radio and singing along as loudly as they possibly could, a rush down the streets that they’d explored for hours on foot, a rush into the house that they’d chosen and painted and decorated together.

But when Lexa fell onto the bed she shared with her wife with a woman who wasn’t her wife, she didn’t think much of her wife at all.

Her ring burned, as did her shame.

But it kept happening.

Over, and over, and over.

She took off the ring, and left it on a hastily written letter with poor excuses and explanations.

The eyes in her office, which had usually reminded her to stay focused, driven, now looked upon her with the utmost judgement.

You’re disgusting.

She couldn’t help but agree with the voice in her head for once.

***

It was a Tuesday.

Throughout her life, nothing particularly exciting had ever occurred on a Tuesday, but this Tuesday was different.

It was her birthday, and Lexa was flying out to Ohio to visit, watch her show, and Clarke was just excited at the very thought of seeing her, of being with her, especially on such a day.

She visibly bounced with excitement, and her roommate regarded her with mild amusement.

“So I get to meet the famous wife today?”

“Hopefully, if things go well,” Clarke grinned, “you won’t be meeting her until the morning.”

“Ooh, confidence looks good on you, Princess.”

Raven Reyes was nothing that Clarke had expected when she filled out an ad searching for a roommate, but she was eternally grateful that she’d found the other woman, knowing that she’d have gone insane in this hellhole without her constant humor and companionship, though she could deal without the loud sex noises that often escaped from her room.

“What? Just because I’m not a stripper anymore doesn’t mean I shouldn’t use the goods to the best of my ability, Clarke,” Raven had said.

She could live without the snake either.

Wayne.

What an odd name for a snake.

Regardless, they’d soon formed a bond that almost rivaled her friendship with Wells, who she’d known since the two of them were both in diapers.

She was sitting by the dock, looking out at the water.

It was a Tuesday.

She heard her before she saw her, the familiar, purposeful steps, and Clarke was up in a shot, rushing towards her wife and jumping on her in a heap of excitement and rapid kisses all over her face, blood thrumming with the adrenaline of seeing her after so long.

“Lexa,” she breathed, smile radiant, and she should have been alerted by the fact immediately that Lexa’s answering one wasn’t as brilliant, but she was too caught up in the moment to notice.

“Happy birthday,” she said in form of greeting, capturing Clarke’s lips in a soft kiss, “I missed you.”

It was a Tuesday.

They walked along the dock, skipping stones on the still surface of the water, Clarke chatting while Lexa listened.

“...this weekend is going to be great Lexa, just you wait, I can show you around, and…” she trailed off at Lexa’s guilty look. “Lex?”

“I actually have to fly back tonight,” she confessed, “I wasn’t able to get as much time off as I would have wanted.”

“Oh,” Clarke said, voice small, before she looked up brightly again, “at least we’ll have tonight, then.” It barely took another guilty look from Lexa for Clarke to understand, and it infuriated her.

“You know what makes me crazy? I’m sorry, can I say this?”

“Clarke please―”

“You know what makes me nuts? The fact that we could be together, here tonight, sharing our night, spending time together, and you are gonna choose someone else to be with―”

“Clarke that’s not what I’m―”

“No, you are, yes, Lexa, that’s exactly what you’re doing. You could be here with me or be there with them and as usual guess which you pick.”

“I have to―”

“No, Lexa, you do not have to go to another party with the same twenty jerks you already know. You could stay with your wife on her fucking birthday, and you could, god forbid, even see my show.”

“Clarke I’m trying―”

“And I know in your soul it must drive you crazy that you won’t get to play with your little girlfriends.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous―”

“No I’m not! No I’m not! And the point is, Lexa, that you can’t spend a day that’s not about you, and you, and nothing but you.” She emphasized each word with an angry gesture and step towards her wife, who was backing away. “Marvelous, novelist you. Isn't she wonderful? Just twenty-eight the savior of writing!”

“Clarke, please—”

“You, you, and nothing but you, pushing through windows and bursting through walls en route to the sky, while I—” Her words were cut off by a sob, wracking her entire body, and Lexa just stood there, stoic and unmoving.

How could she just stand there while she was crying?

Without a word, Lexa turned on her heel and left, leaving Clarke to pick up the pieces of herself.

It was a Tuesday.

Raven held her while she cried.

***

They’d been so happy, once upon a time.  
Hardwood floors had been danced around with sock-clad feet, twisting out-of-beat to the music under the soft glow of the fairy lights and candles, a combination of Christmas and Hanukkah in one.

Now everything was packed away in boxes, and Clarke couldn't help but feel the urge to cry.

“Hey.” Wells’ grip was as reassuring as ever, and steadied her in her brief moment of pain. “You're okay, Clarke.”

She really wasn't.

Even after all their time apart, all the horrible things Lexa had done, she couldn't help but miss her, long for her, as made apparent by the ring that still sat listlessly on her finger, it's match hanging from a chain around her neck.

“I can't believe we’ve made it to the day,” Murphy commented, setting down a box, “Clarke Griffin, broadway’s next big star.”

She’d finally gotten the opportunity she'd been dreaming of since she was a child, and it was time to move on from the home that had been her heaven as well as her hell.

“There’s a package at the door, Griffin,” Murphy said, “I brought it in.”

Clarke frowned. She hadn't been expecting a package.

It was small, and inconspicuous, and she opened it with delicate artist’s fingers while Wells and Murphy bickered over how to arrange her boxes.

It was a book.

The Last Five Years.

The author at the bottom made her pause in her inspection, fingers curling and heart aching, but, against her better judgement, eyes caught by the dedication written in italics.

  
_To my Shiksa Goddess, who I had hurt beyond repair. I'm so sorry, my love, perhaps others can look upon our journey with the fondness I still possess for you._  
_All my love._

Also included was an envelope with a letter, and she couldn't help but remember another letter, what seemed like ages ago.

She tucked it into her bag and went along with her packing.

***

“Hello?”

“You wanted to talk? Talk.”

***

It took a long time for Clarke to forgive Lexa.

It took Lexa even longer to forgive herself.

They say time heals all wounds, and that wasn't necessarily true, but it did heal most.

Their first child, Aden, was born on a Tuesday.


End file.
